There’s no way for the thing to have an expression, but I can feel the cold, vicious spite that flickers in that one eye.
“Go straight to hell, Vogel,” I hiss, then bring my blade down to impale his eye.
I dig into the creature, gouging out the Vogel eye and all the other eyes. Driving my knife into its head again and again and again. Then I straighten and pull in a quavering breath, bloodlust still strafing through my lines as I blink at what’s before me, reality warping as I survey the wreckage I’ve wrought.
The two smaller scorpios are splayed out, their charred heads still smoking and bent back at odd angles where my blades impaled their necks, black ichor staining the surrounding lavender grass. The Vogel scorpio’s head is a mound of gore.
Magefire whips through my tangled lines, hot and furious. But there’s something more. Another line of fire, golden-hot and mounting in strength. A spike of grief hits me as I realize it’s an echo of Yvan’s Wyvernfire.
In a disbelieving daze, I lean to wipe the black mucous coating my blade on the pale lilac grass, then rise and resheathe my weapon as my Wyvernfire ripples through my lines.
I hold up my hands and press the retrieval runes on my palms with my thumbs.
The two other blades embedded in the Vogel scorpio’s neck fly toward me with such force that they almost sever the beast’s head, their hilts slapping into my palms.
I wipe them on the grass as well, straighten, and calmly resheathe them both.
The woman, the teenage girl, and the child are all clinging to each other and eyeing me with looks of pure shock. They’re sick, the woman and the young child, I swiftly realize. Quite sick. With bloodshot eyes and red sores thick around their mouths. There’s a feverish, strung-out look about them, and they’re skeletally thin.
The Red Grippe.
The final stages of it, from the looks of them both.
The Gardnerian girl sets herself staunchly before them, her green-eyed glare fixed on me, her blade still in hand. Her whole self seems tightly strung, like a violin string wound to the near breaking point. I notice that they all have similar heart-shaped faces.
I look closer.
My eyes linger on the ears that are poking through the Gardnerian girl’s long, unwashed black hair. Her ears are jagged—scarred—and I realize, in a horrified flash, that they’ve been cropped. Like Olilly’s were, that horrible night when Gardnerian mobs attacked Urisk all over Verpacia.
Which means they were once pointed.
I set my eyes on the little Urisk girl and note the emerald flecks in her amethyst eyes, the strands of Gardnerian black mingled in with her violet hair.
In a burst of comprehension, I realize that both of these children are part Gardnerian and part Urisk and would not be looked at kindly in the Western Realm by practically anyone.
It all comes together in my mind—the myriad reasons these three are likely fleeing East.
Concerned, I lift a hand toward them, palm out. “Don’t be alarmed,” I say, not sure if I’m talking to them or myself, astonished by what I’ve just done. I turn and blink at the decimated scorpio carcasses, the image surreal.
I took down three scorpios.
Three.
Tears blur my vision as Lukas’s and Chi Nam’s and Valasca’s unwavering belief in me fills my mind.
You were right, I tell them, my heart aching. I can fight back. I can be a warrior.
“Who...who are you?” the Urisk woman asks me waveringly in the Common Tongue, her heavily accented voice stitched tight.
I turn toward her and take in the stark fear in her reddened amethyst eyes.
The Black Witch, I almost say.
“I’m...” I begin then pause, struggling to quickly assemble my thoughts, remembering the false Elfhollen name I’m supposed to use in the Eastern Realm, the Elfhollen identity that Valasca and Lukas and Chi Nam drilled into me.
“My name is Ny’laea Shizoryn,” I tell them as my voice breaks around another painful wave of grief.
Their wide-eyed stares remain fixed on me.
I step toward them but stop when they collectively flinch, the little girl whimpering and coughing up thick phlegm as she clings to who I assume is her mother. The young child’s green-flecked eyes are wide and haunted, as if she’s replaying the scorpio attack over and over in her mind. She’s so thin. Much too thin. Like her mother...
Dread gathers in me like a deep, welling pool as my apothecary mind savagely ticks off the cold facts about their illness. They’ll be dead in a matter of days if they don’t get hold of Norfure tincture. The immediacy of their situation momentarily sweeps away my own pain.
“Where are we?” I ask them as another flash of golden warmth shimmers through my lines.
The teenage girl looks to the woman questioningly, her expression growing conflicted when the woman remains cautiously silent. But then the girl straightens with an air of defiance, as if fighting against her own intimidation, as she sets her piercing forest green eyes on me.
“We’re in the Dyoi Forest,” she says, clutching her blade.
It strikes me anew, the sheer impossibility of it.
I’m here, in the Eastern Realm, along with my brothers and so many loved ones. Trystan and Rafe. Diana and Jarod and Andras. Tierney and Naga and Sage, and other allies and friends. All of them probably here, somewhere.
“Do you have a compass?” I ask the girl as lightning forks through the sky above, sending out a resounding crack.
She nods, her brow furrowed tight as she pulls a golden compass from her pocket, seeming braced like a soldier and ready to press through hell itself to get the woman and child to safety.
“I need your help,” I level with the girl. “I don’t know which way to go.”
She considers this, her mouth thinning, the force of her gaze a formidable thing.
“I’ll help you,” she finally blurts out. There’s a rushed, reckless quality to the words, like she’s made the sudden decision to jump off a cliff.
I nod at this, both heartened and overcome with emotion over her obvious bravery in the face of such great difficulty. “And I’ll protect you,” I promise her.
The air seems to flicker and warp, translucent white birds flashing into view and settling on the shoulders of the girl, the child, and the woman as the Wand pulses against my side.
My heart twists as I remember all the other times the ethereal Watchers have shown themselves.
To prompt compassion for heroic Ariel.
To lead me to Marina.
I’ve seen the Watchers on the shoulders of Smaragdalfar refugee children. And Watchers in terrible mourning when the Lupines were murdered.
Watchers led me to the Wand sheathed at my side.
And now, they’re here, with this girl and her sick family.
It’s a heartening thought, that there could be a larger force at play in the world. A force for good that cares about the oppressed.
Even though its power pales in comparison to the power of the Shadow Wand.
I remember talking to Sage about the Wand of Myth, the Wand we’ve both been the Bearers of.
The force of good seems very, very weak, I rued to her.
Then we strengthen it, Sage answered me with unflinching resolve. I think it needs us in that way.
I look at the people before me as the Watchers blink out of view and the Wand goes silent once more.
Perhaps this is how it starts, I consider as tears glaze my eyes. By helping each other.
Another fiercer shot of warmth suddenly jets through my lines, fiery gold and blisteringly powerful.
My eyes widen.
Shocked, I glance around, the power of the trees palpably retreating from the sudden rush of heat.
“What’s the matter?” the girl worriedly asks me.
Th
e golden fire roars through me again, and before I can answer her, the flames intensify. Not Mage heat, I realize. No. I recognize the unique, golden-blaze quality of this heat. The signature sting of it.
There’s nothing vague or amorphous about this heat. It’s directional. Blasting toward me from the northeast and as familiar to me as my own heart, my own lines. Heat I’ve felt intimately in more than one kiss. Heat that’s been sent through me at close range.
A light-headed swoop flashes through me as I’m seized by the realization.
Yvan. This is Yvan’s heat.
I’m sure of it. As sure as I am of my own existence.
Sweet Ancient One.
My breath catches in my throat as the Wyvernfire whips through my lines and circles around me with overwhelming force, fierce recognition and yearning in it.
Is Yvan alive?
Tears slide down my eyes and I send out my own fire toward the blaze that’s rushing through me. Twining the flames tightly together as the golden fire fills every part of me and I can see it burning in the back of my mind, suffused with the echo of one word. One word, sent out over Ancient One knows how many leagues of Eastern land. A word with so much passion invested in it, it releases a cyclone of longing and want and fierce grief inside me.
Elloren.
* * *
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, thank you to my husband, Walter, for his unflinching and enthusiastic support. I love you.
To my epic daughters—Alex, Willow, Taylor, and Schuyler—thank you for supporting me in this author thing and being so all-around great. I love you.
Love going out to my late mother, Mary Jane Sexton, and to my late close friend, Diane Dexter. In the moments that seemed most daunting, I remembered how much you both believed in me and this series. Your feisty legacy continues to inspire me.
A special thank-you to author Ileana for helping me through the most difficult part of this book’s edit—your encouragement and insights were everything—thank you for sharing your friendship and immense talent.
Thank you to my mother-in-law, Gail Kamaras, and my sister-in-law, Jessica Bowers, for all your support. I love you guys. A shout-out to my brilliant author brother, Mr. Beanbag, for always being awesome and always being supportive of me.
To authors Cam M. Sato and K., my international writing group cohorts—thank you for sharing your incredible talent and friendship with me week after week. I feel privileged to be on this writing journey with you both.
Thank you to author/editor Dian Parker for sharing your incredible talent with me, and to author Eva Gumprecht for being an inspiration. Thank you to Liz Zundel for sharing your writing talent and for your friendship, especially during this challenging edit. Love you, Liz. And thank you, Betty—much love going out to you. Thank you, Suzanne. Your support this past year has been everything.
A million thanks to my fellow authors at Inkyard Press. I’m not only starstruck by all of you and your talent, I’m also so grateful for your support and friendship. To the authors of Utah and the librarians of Texas—I am so happy to know all of you. Thank you for all the support. To YALSA and all the librarians who have supported me and my series—you are the definition of awesome. Thank you to Jessie.
And thank you to authors Cerece, Nan, Kelly, Abigail, Laura, A., Shaila, Jennifer, Summer, Ira, Erin, Stephanie, Keira, G., Abby, McCall, Liz, Lia, P., Joel, Laura, R., C., Meg, Sierra, Jon, J., and V., and thank you to all the other authors who have supported me throughout the past year (a special thank-you to that private author Facebook community—so lucky to have all of you). Thanks going out to Lorraine for so much positive support. Love you, college roomie :) Thank you to the Burlington Writers’ Workshop for sharing your talent and insight with me. Thank you, Mike Marcotte, for all the tech support with my website. Thank you to all the Vermont authors (you are legion) who are so supportive of my series. I’m so grateful to you all. Also, thank you to the Vermont College of Fine Arts for all the support throughout the year. You are a magical place of inspiration. Thank you to the League of Vermont Writers for being awesome. Thank you to Dan and Bronwyn (I love you guys), and thank you, John G., for your support and friendship. To all the librarians at the Kellogg Hubbard Library for being so enthusiastic and supportive of my series—a giant thank-you. Thank you to all the bookstores that have been so enthusiastic about this series, including Phoenix Books in Burlington, Vermont; Bear Pond Books in Montpelier, Vermont; and Next Chapter Bookstore in Barre, Vermont. Also, thank you to the booksellers working in the YA section at the Burlington, Vermont, Barnes & Noble, for your boundless enthusiasm.
To all the bloggers and readers from all over the world who have been so supportive of me online—you are all so fun and great. I’m enjoying being on this series journey with you all. Thank you for all the notes and letters and great ideas! To my sensitivity readers: thank you for making this book so much better with your insightful suggestions and inclusive vision. Any flaws that remain are completely my own.
Thank you to two of my favorite authors, Tamora Pierce and Robin Hobb, for your support and praise. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.
Thank you to my phenomenally talented audio readers for the series—Julia Whelan, Jesse Vilinsky, and Amy McFadden.
And a huge thank-you to everyone at Inkyard Press and HarperCollins who have supported both me and this series. I can’t believe I get to work with people of your caliber. Thank you to Natashya Wilson, executive editor at Inkyard Press and my wonderful editor, and Connolly Bottum, assistant editor, for everything. Tashya, I’m so grateful to be working with you on the rest of these series. And thank you to editor Lauren Smulski, for making every one of the books we worked on together miles better. Thank you to Reka Rubin and Christine Tsai on the Harlequin subrights team, for being such huge fans of The Black Witch Chronicles, and for your efforts to bring my books to readers all over the world. Thank you to Shara Alexander, Laura Gianino, Linette Kim, Bess Braswell, Brittany Mitchell, and everyone else in marketing and publicity who helped to promote this series. To Kathleen Oudit and Mary Luna of Harlequin’s talented art department—I can never thank you enough for my spectacular covers and maps. Many thanks to the sales team for their support—and especially Gillian Wise, for your boundless enthusiasm for The Black Witch Chronicles. A big thank-you to Inkyard Press’s digital promoters/social media team: Eleanor Elliott, Larissa Walker, and Olivia Gissing, Marianna Ricciuto, Brendan Flattery, and the Digital Assets team. And thank you to Ingrid Dolan, head of copy editing, copy editor Gina Macedo for doing such a beautiful job (loved your notes!), and Tamara Shifman, head of proofreading.
And lastly, thank you to my wonderful agent, Carrie Hannigan, Ellen Goff, and everyone else at HG Literary, for all your support and for believing in The Black Witch Chronicles for so many years. Much love going out to all of you.
ISBN: 9781488056901
The Shadow Wand
Copyright © 2020 by Laurie Forest
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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